Monsters Like Me
by firethorndrive
Summary: Takes place in early season 6, before any official Spuffy action. Rated M for later chapters. The burden of Slayerdom is slowly eating away at Buffy. As she tries to pick up the pieces that have accumulated after her death and resurrection, she struggles to remain strong. Despite her instincts, she shares the weight with Spike as he offers her an opportunity to be weak for once.


The rational part of Buffy's brain, which usually took a leave of absence when it came to her younger sister, told her that Dawn was completely safe walking to a sleepover at her friend's house unaccompanied. Still, the hell that Dawn had been forced to endure, both before and during Buffy's death, had left behind a nauseating fear that took permanent residence deep in Buffy's gut. If she allowed herself to be selfish, Dawn would be under constant surveillance and protection. However, the idea that Dawn's paranormal nature would prevent her from living a normal life resonated too strongly with Buffy; she wouldn't let herself deny Dawn what she herself always wanted.

When Spike just happened to "stop by" during his nightly stalk, he took note of Buffy's palpable anxiety and Dawn's exasperation as she assured her older sister that she would be just fine. Realizing that this wasn't just another arbitrary Summers power struggle, he insisted that he escort "bite-sized" down the street and the fact that the Slayer accepted his offer without so much as a biting remark just further confirmed Spike's suspicion that her nervousness was in rare form tonight. He met her eyes, donning a small but comforting smile, and nodded tersely, a silent promise to protect the smaller Summers as he ushered her out the back door. Buffy's restless fingers continued to drum on the counter-top but she returned his nod and mouthed a relieved _thank you_ as Dawn launched into rapid-fire conversation.

Dawn, who was always partial to the snide vampire, gladly agreed to the company and filled him in on all the silly details of her adolescent life as they walked, none of which particularly interested Spike. Still, he listened and nodded when appropriate, relishing in the fact that Dawn seemed to be having the kind of drama that he supposed girls her age are expected to have. He paid more attention to her springy step and characteristically teenage eye rolls than to her actual words, enjoying her presence all the same.

Dawn slowed and turned towards the house they were now in front of, waving to her school friend who sat expectantly on the front stoop.

"You can go tell the boss lady I'm totally unscathed now," Dawn sing-songed, her hands perched on her hips, eyes rolling towards the sky ( _she's lucky those things don't roll out of her head_ , he thought), the picture of annoyed. Spike played along, knowing full well that Dawn was secretly warmed by Buffy's protectiveness.

"Right then. I'd better hurry back before she calls together a Scooby search team." He sighed, unconsciously patting his duster pockets for his cigarettes. Still searching, he gave her a chiding grin and added, "Stay out of trouble, niblet."

Dawn answered with a guilty smile, knowing that if anyone knew her penchant for mischief, it was Spike, considering he was the inspiration behind her small rebellious streak. He watched her greet the other girl and follow her into the house before turning back towards the Summers home.

Buffy was busying herself with the small pile of dishes that had accumulated in the sink, trying to not to entertain the nagging self-doubt. Her concentration was broken by the sound of the blinds jostling as Spike let himself back into the kitchen.

"The bit has been delivered," he announced. "Probably gossiping about some wanker as we speak."

Buffy's shoulders slumped slightly, exhaling some of her tension in a tired gust.

"Thank you," she replied without looking up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.

Spike's head cocked questioningly to the side. "I said she's fine, Slayer. You can untwist your knickers now." He threw that last bit in haphazardly, knowing that if Buffy was her normal self, he'd probably be cradling his balls.

She didn't take the bait, but only robotically turned back to the dishes. After a moment, she heard Spike's shuffling boots over the sound of the running water until she felt him behind her, his fingers ghosting over her shoulder.

"Hey," he almost whispered, making sure she looked him in the eye before he continued, "She's fine."

Before she could dismiss his assurances and retreat back into herself, Buffy caught the look on his face. His usually predatory gaze had softened into one of genuine fondness and concern and she realized with a lurch that it was the expression he usually wore when he looked at Dawn. Buffy had become so accustomed to his lustful stares that his change in demeanor caught her off guard. It was so… _human_.

She vaguely remembered Dawn telling her what he had said to her while the two of them had tried to bring back her mother.

 _I just don't like to see Summers women take it so hard on the chin._

Spike watched as Buffy's guard dropped and she allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability.

"She's never going to be fine, Spike," she said, turning off the faucet and leaning back against the sink to stare straight ahead. "There's always going to be something out there just waiting to get its hands on her."

"Yeah," he conceded, "but that's just what it's like being a mum. No use tearing yourself up 'bout it."

Instead of the usual urge to invalidate his every word, Buffy felt the need to release her pent up frustration. She rolled with it.

"But _I'm_ the only one who has to deal with what goes bump in the night," she countered. " _I'm_ the one who spends my free time protecting my kid sister from angry gods and evil demons while all these Stepford wives make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and pick up their kids from soccer." She shook her head in aggravation before continuing, "While _they_ live in blissful ignorance and get a good night's sleep, _I_ make sure their kids don't become some monster's dinner." She took a ragged breath and clutched the counter harder, turning her knuckles white.

Spike was speechless, not used to the Slayer talking about her line of work with anything but a sense of duty and determination. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, opening and closing his mouth several times before nodding and turning around to stand opposite of her.

Buffy sighed in resignation and her body visibly slackened. "Forget it," she muttered, "I'm just tired. Thanks for walking Dawn."

She glanced at him before moving to turn the faucet back on and was again blindsided by the concern brewing in his eyes.

"Buffy," he started, "You're doing a hell of a job with her." He forced out the words in a pained but gentle tone.

 _I couldn't live, her bein' in that much pain._

He spoke to her in that same tone he once used, when he thought she was her robot doppelganger, and once again, she felt overwhelmingly relieved that she had Spike as a safety net. Feelings of gratitude, unease, anger, and something akin to friendship washed over her unexpectedly. As she felt the horrifying prick of tears in the corners of her eyes, Buffy forced her head down, mentally reprimanding herself for letting Spike into her life even further. She needed space and air to reconstruct her walls, neither of which he allowed her as he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the counter on both sides of her.

"Buffy," he repeated, determined to not let the words get stuck in his throat this time, "I've never seen someone take care of someone as fiercely as you do Dawn, chosen or otherwise. Trust me, I've been around for a bit and I've seen some pathetic excuses for human beings. That little girl is lucky to have a Slayer for a sis. And a bloody phenomenal one at that, and I've seen my fair share of those as well." He paused for a pregnant moment before adding, "Joyce would be proud."

At that, Buffy let out a broken sob despite herself. Losing all ability to keep him at bay, she let herself fall forward into Spike's solid chest with her hands covering her face. Careful not to break whatever spell that was allowing him to be this close to her, Spike hesitantly let his hand rest in between her shoulder blades, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into her well-muscled back.

Buffy's quiet sobs continued, causing her whole body to convulse as her tears leaked through his hands and stained his well-worn shirt. Her fingers moved from her face to frantically clutch at the sodden fabric.

Spike tilted his head, letting his hollowed cheek rest against the crown of her head before ducking until his lips was mere inches from her ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry that its monsters like me that do this to you."

Buffy pulled back slowly, flattening her hands and regarding him with curiosity. It was rare that Spike apologized for his dark nature. Usually, he took a swaggering pride in it, which only gave Buffy more reason to insist that his self-proclaimed reformation was bullshit. That unnerving concern was still present on his face and Buffy was forced to consider that maybe he wasn't as self-serving as she wanted to believe.

Spike kept his hand on her back, prolonging the contact for as long as she would allow. She sniffled a few more times before gently removing his arm and composing herself.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled casually, "I just really need to go to bed."

Spike stepped back. "Right. Up you go," he said gesturing towards the stairs and offering a hesitant smile.

"Goodnight, Spike," she said, her voice fading as she headed toward the staircase.

"Till tomorrow, Slayer," he replied, the bluster returning to his voice. He stood alone in the kitchen for a few moments, his eyes glued to where she disappeared around the corner, before he realized that Buffy hadn't seen him out. He chalked it up to a sleep-deprived oversight rather than a step in the right direction, but he painfully hoped that it was the latter.

Buffy crawled into bed without bothering to undress or pull the covers back. Without the emotional release that Spike had offered tonight, she most likely would have remained awake for several more hours, resisting the urge to check up on Dawn. Her heavy lids closed and her tired limbs sunk into the mattress as she drifted, but she could have sworn that before she lost consciousness, she heard someone downstairs doing the dishes.


End file.
